


The Hustle and Bustle of the Holidays

by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade



Series: Home Alone AU [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (that was for you tumblr user Combeferre), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Don't copy to another site, Found Family, Gen, Not a romance fic, ambiguous epiferre, are they together? are they comfortable with each other? who knows? not me, but in fics with the whole gang I really only tag the ones with more than three speaking lines, enjolras is a dick to grantaire and grantaire deserves it, gav just fell through the cracks, home alone au, in this house we stand feuilly, okay but guys everyone kind of did the best they could?, so obviously there's way more character than just that, tw: threat of physical abuse, Éponine's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 20:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17311421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade
Summary: The fateful morning les Amis forgot Gavroche at home.(Final installment of the Home Alone AU!)Warnings: language, threat of physical abuse, TSA (and by extension some racial prejudice), insensitive questions about ethnicity





	The Hustle and Bustle of the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta-reader [PieceOfCait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceOfCait/pseuds/PieceOfCait) who found wifi to edit this even during peak tourist season. <3

“Where do think you’re going?”

Éponine doesn’t even need to be outside of her room to hear the telltale signs of Gavroche’s attempt to sneak down the steps and, no doubt, out one of the main floor’s doors. She steps out now to see her brother paused at the front door, hand resting on the handle.

“Out.”

“It’s ten.”

“I’ll be back before we leave.” 

“Of course you will, because you’ll already be here. C’mon, get up here.”

He storms up the stairs in a huffy succession of stomps as only a nine year-old can with his hands balled in fists at his sides. “This is stupid,” he mutters as he passes in front of Éponine’s bedroom and continues on to his, a small room at the end of the hallway. She follows him in.

“Look Bud, tomorrow is already going to be stressful enough without me having to panic over where you are, yeah?”

He snorts derisively—and if there was ever any doubt who had raised him, surely this is all it would take to set them straight. “I don’t see you worrying about anyone else.”

“I’m not in charge of anyone else.”

“And what, you’re in charge of me?”

“I literally have paperwork declaring me to be your legal guardian, yes.”

“You and everyone else in this house, apparently.”

“We’re just trying to keep you safe, Gav. I know it can feel like a bit much sometimes, but—” 

“Because it is ‘a bit much.’ I got by fine on my own before! Hell, I looked after other kids! And I didn’t need to shove food pyramids down their throats or make up stupid curfews to do it.”

Éponine feels herself losing her patience. A headache is building. “I’m sure you did, but that wasn’t exactly a ‘good life,’ Gav. We have people who care about us here.”

“I had people who cared about me then, too. Just because you only hung out with drug dealers doesn’t mean all of us sat around all day being lonely and miserable and feeling sorry for ourselves.”

It hits closer to home than Éponine wants to admit, but she pushes forward. “That’s not the same. We have food that we don’t need to steal, a roof over our heads, electric and hot water that isn’t constantly at risk for being shut off. People who care about our wellbeing. You don’t understand what we have here, what these guys have done for us.”

She watches him puff up, crossing his arms and looking prepared to say something he seems to think will get under her skin--and knowing him, he’s probably right. “Dad would have let me go.”

Éponine scoffs. “Yeah, well, Dad didn’t exactly give a shit about any of us, did he? Roof over our heads, and even that was incidental.”

“It’d be better than having the protection squad on my ass 24/7.”

“They just want to keep you saf—”

“I mean, look at this pack of freaks.”

Anger rises in her, making her see black for a second as she feels her hand instinctively wind up for a slap like she’d seen their parents do a thousand times. She catches herself, stopping short and instantly feeling overwhelmed with regret when she sees Gavroche flinching behind a raised forearm.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Gavroche, I didn’t mean—” She kneels and reaches for a hug before thinking better of it. Éponine rubs both hands over her face then hugs her arms to herself, sighing before looking up at her baby brother. “That was not okay of me, and I am so sorry.”

Gavroche isn’t looking at her and has his arms crossed in front of him defensively. He’s wearing the expression he does when he’s trying to act nonchalant, and Éponine hates that she’s the reason for it.

She sighs bitterly. “Let’s…I wanna talk about this, but I don’t think either of us are in any state to do that right now.” Gavroche’s stoney silence is his only response. “Can try tomorrow? Once this craziness with the travel is over and we’re back in our heads?”

At first Éponine thinks Gavroche is going to go on pretending to ignore her, but at last he gives an almost imperceptible nod.

“All right,” she says, pulling herself up to her full height. “Now, Uncle E’s running around like a madman trying to get this figured out, and it doesn’t sound like any of the rest of our merry band of troublemakers is cooperating, so you listen here.” She holds out the flight ticket with Gavroche’s name on it. “This is yours. Don’t try to switch with anyone else because TSA’ll be up our aaaa—rearends with accusations about stealing identities, and non-white as we are we’re already all gonna be up to our colons in rubber gloves.”

Gavroche releases a reluctant snort at that, which Éponine considers a success.

“Plane takes off at noon, we arrive at the airport at ten, we leave the house at eight—with or without you.”

“New York sounded boring anyway.”

“That’s the spirit. Now, get to bed before Uncle Joly starts shoving sleep studies under your door again.” She starts for the door, nearly closing it behind her before looking back in to where Gavroche has not yet moved. “Hey, Kid. I love you.”

Gavroche looks up at her briefly before returning to his studious avoidance.

Éponine swallows hard before shutting the door behind her. She waits until she hears footsteps before calling to him, “Remember to close the window this time, you drive up the electric when you forget!” She only hears a huff and the groan of bedsprings in response.

Éponine goes down to the living room where Combeferre sits in his Barcalounger, seemingly impervious to the chaos occurring just around the corner in the kitchen. She drops down on the arm of the chair beside him, leaning into his shoulder and taking no care not to disturb his reading.

“What’s going on in there?” It goes unsaid that she is referring to the slamming of doors and pans in the kitchen punctuated by the occasional growl.

Combeferre doesn’t even look up from his book, and Éponine can hear his smile when he speaks. “Enjolras forbade anyone from being out past 9:30, so naturally R took half the household out for drinks.”

“Classic. Who all’s here, then?”

Combeferre does put down his book this time, squinting as he lists off the names. “Joly’s been in his room all evening. Feuilly should be waking up for his overnight shift soon. Marius and Cosette turned in early. Enjolras is clearly doing a great job of making his presence known. And then there’s you, me, and Gav.”

“I wouldn’t count on Gav, pretty sure the stinker took the scenic route out of the house as soon as I left.” She blows a piece of hair out of her face. “Ferre, I fucked up.”

He sits up, wrapping an arm around her. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Éponine pulls away. “I nearly hit him. I didn’t even think about it, he just. He said something, and it. It set me off. I could have…Ferre, I could have hurt him.”

Combeferre pulls her into a hug, and she breathes in the smell of sandalwood and cocoa butter and freshly cracked books. They stay like that for a couple of moments, Éponine savoring the gentle tug of fingers in her hair, before they pull apart. She leans back into him, and his arm wrap around her once more.

“But you didn’t,” Combeferre murmurs.

“What?”

“You didn’t hit him.”

She huffs. “Barely.”

“‘Do or do not,’” he shrugs.

There’s a beat of silence. “Did you just quote Star Wars at me?”

The grin Combeferre wears when she looks over is answer enough for her as she shoves him away laughing.

“Anyw— _anyway_ ,” he repeats firmly, grinning as he hugs her against his chest and foils her plans to continue shoving him through what will, in all probability, be a very comforting and heartfelt talk. “You didn’t, and that counts for something. Did you talk with him about it?”

She sighs. “A little. We tabled it for tomorrow.”

“Probably for the best,” Combeferre agrees.

They sit for several more minutes in comfortable silence, Éponine leaning back into Combeferre’s chest and letting the peace wash over her while she can. He has his book back out and is reading over her shoulder, and in the moment Éponine thinks that they might be able to stay like this forever.

An especially loud slam from the kitchen breaks the reverie, and Éponine reluctantly pushes herself to her feet. “Better get to bed before Enj decides to take _his serious attitude_ out of the kitchen,” she calls, making sure that her complaints are audible to certain blond-haired audiences.

Combeferre smiles, replacing his book. “Good night, Ép.”

“Sleep well, Mothman.”

\---

Not for the first time, Éponine wonders if it was really worth it to move in with Enjolras and the Wonder Kids.

The house is in chaos as she returns to her room in a towel, only to find Enjolras already there and pounding loudly at her door.

“Something I can help you with, Ringo?”

Enjolras at least has the decency to look bashful. “Sorry. Apparently everyone who went out last night got back just a couple of hours ago. You’re only the third person who’s been awake since I started going around.”

Éponine makes a face. “It’s past seven, isn’t it?”

Enjolras raises his eyebrows, lips forming a tight line with suppressed frustration. “Yes. Yes it is.”

Éponine sighs, though truthfully she’s unsurprised. “Gav and I are already packed, so that should save you some hassle. It’ll be around five minutes ‘til I’m ready. I can help you wrangle after.”

The expression Enjolras sends her is so grateful that she nearly forgets why she was so irritated. 

“Saving R for last then?” she asks, smirking.

“Oh, you’ll know when I get to R,” Enjolras promises darkly.

At last Éponine lets herself into her room, getting dressed and making sure that everything is exactly in its normal place. She takes a couple of pictures before checking that her windows are securely latched and locking the door behind her. 

She strides down to Gavroche’s room, noting that the door is still shut. She raps on the door four times in their arrhythmic signal to one another. “Hey Kiddo, rise and shine!” She tentatively eases the door open after a beat.

“Ép,” the voice complains. “Five more minutes.”

The window is shut, and he’s wearing pajamas, which means that he might actually have stayed in. She feels equal parts warmed and guilty at the realization.

Most days Éponine would waste no time in ripping the duvet off of his bed and forcing him to start his day, but the memory of the night prior flashes before her eyes.

“Okay. Five more minutes. But then I’m siccing Uncle E on you, and believe me when I tell you that the man is in a _mood_ this morning.”

Almost as if on cue, Enjolras’s voice crests from the floor above them, accompanied by the repeated clashing of metal against metal. “RISE AND SHINE, ASSHOLE.”

Even Gavroche emits a moan and pulls his pillow over his head to block out the harsh sound, Éponine can’t imagine how hungover R is taking it. Fortunately, Enjolras takes some of the guesswork out of it.

“If you wanted to sleep you should have done it last night! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!”

Éponine puts her face next to where Gavroche’s covered head lays. “Five minutes,” she whispers menacingly before taking her leave.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU HAVEN’T PACKED YET??”

Rather than risk getting closer to whatever natural disaster is occurring upstairs, Éponine sends Enjolras a text.

 

[07.12] **You:** wake gav in 5

 

Almost immediately she receives a thumbs-up emoji in response, impressive since the beating of the man’s pots doesn’t stutter. _Ringo indeed._

She heads downstairs for liquid fortitude, only to find that the true natural disaster apparently made a pit stop through their kitchen. The kitchen table and counters are littered with empty containers, eggshells, and inedible bits and ends of produce. In the center of the hurricane stands Bahorel chugging a liter of orange juice straight from the container.

“Uh. Baz?”

“Twenty-egg omelet?” he offers once the carton is lowered. He motions to an actual platter on the table piled high presumably with eggs, along with what seems to be every other item from the fridge. Still, Éponine is intrigued.

“What kind of omelet?”

“We’ve got three meats, a coupla bell peppers, four cheeses, red and Vidalia onions, a bulb of garlic, some bok choy, and a whole carrot.” 

“Huh. Tempting. Pass.”

In the corner of the kitchen she sights paradise in the form of two running coffee machines surrounded by Cosette and Musichetta. The eye of the storm.

She pulls up, grabbing one of Jehan’s lumpy coffee mugs from the cupboard on her way. 

“Yeah, I just don’t get them,” she hears Musichetta say as she fills her mug with the fresh nectar of life. “I got a hangover once when I was seventeen, and I deserved it. Never had one since.”

“I envy you,” Cosette responds emphatically.

“Ladies,” Éponine greets, toasting her mug to them before taking a sip. “How are we doing this morning?”

They both sigh, rolling their eyes with good-natured smiles. 

“I’m great, but Joly woke up and decided he needed to unpack and repack entirely. Bossuet, on the other hand, rolled out of bed five minutes after him and realized he still needed to pack, full stop. Love them, not involving myself in that mess,” Musichetta responds, taking a deep sip from her mug. 

Éponine nods, grateful not to have to worry about any of that.

“Marius misplaced our flight tickets,” Cosette shrugs happily. “I’d help him search, but you know how he has his system.”

Éponine narrows her eyes. “No, I can’t say I do. Marius has a system?”

“Nope,” Cosette laughs, and Éponine feels her heart melt a little at the sound. “I’m leaving him to it, though: I’m not his keeper.”

Éponine continues sipping at her coffee and enjoying the banter exchanged between the other two women. When she’s nearly down to the dregs, she checks her watch.

“All right, Enjolras recruited me to help make sure everyone makes it to the airport. Sounds like your boys are all accounted for, plus Baz, Enj, and R. Enj told me he’s taking care of getting Gav ready. Have either of you seen Ferre, Courf, or Jehan?”

“I think Combeferre mentioned going out to load up the cars?” Cosette volunteers. “He was here a couple of minutes before you got here.”

“Courf and Jehan were both out with us last night. I’d bet you almost anything that Courf’s still asleep in the food pantry—he decided when we got in that he absolutely needed some nachos with queso and promptly passed out. And Jehan…” Musichetta makes a face. “I can’t remember them coming home with us.” She pulls out her phone and after several taps holds it up to her ear, looking concerned.

Éponine pulls out her own phone to send Enjolras a status update.

 

[07.36] **You:** mar lost his n settes tix  
[07.36] **You:** jb r packng  
[07.37] **You:** baz rekt the ktchn  
[07.37] **You:** make sure he clns b4 u leav  
[07.37] **You:** courf n jehan mia 

 

As she texts the last line, Éponine heads over to the pantry. Sure enough, Courfeyrac lies on the tile floor wrapped like a cat around a bag of tortilla chips. 

She kicks at his shoulder. “Rise ‘n shine, Princess. You’ve got twenty minutes ‘til we head out.”

Courfeyrac wakes from his nap, looking peaceful and a little confused until he sees her, the weight of her words apparently finally settling in. “Fuck!”

He races out of the kitchen and up the stairs clad in nothing but a tie-dye tank top and yellow briefs that say “JUICY” across the ass, obviously still more than a little drunk.

 

[07.38] **You:** found courf

 

Éponine is nearly out the door when she hears it.

“What do you mean, YOU LOST JEHAN?” The clanging of metal on metal increases to triple time until it’s a steady ringing sound.

 

[07.39] **blond preachy bitch:** this wont do  
[07.39] **blond preachy bitch:** well need to go separately  
[07.39] **blond preachy bitch:** take whoever is ready @ 8  
[07.40] **blond preachy bitch:** well follow when we find jehan  
[07.40] **blond preachy bitch:** w/o feuilly 1 van gets 6 1 gets 7

[07.43] **blond preachy bitch:** pls respond so i know u got these  
[07.43] **You** : kk

 

At the vans, Combeferre is already nearly finished loading all of the bags that were already packed up. “Yo, change of plans: Jehan’s missing, so we’re leaving separately.”

Combeferre looks at the vans and sighs. “I don’t suppose…”

“We’ll have a moment of silence for your lost efforts before we repack.”

“Do we know who’s going with whom?”

Éponine takes a moment to tabulate. “You, Gav, and I should all be ready in time for the first one. R’s supposed to be driving the other one, and it sounds like Enj has no intentions of laying off of him until we’re on the road at best. Jehan’s definitely catching that second one. Muse and Sette looked ready to go, but you know neither of them are going to want to abandon their boys. Baz made a giant Goddamned mess in the kitchen, and I’m pretty sure Courf is packing his bag as we speak, so it’s a coin toss between all of them who gets the seats. 8’s departure time, though, so as long as we have at least six butts in these seats we’re on the road.”

Combeferre stares at the vans for a moment in consideration. “I had them all in the first van, so we’ll leave yours, mine, and Gav's and move Enjolras's to the second van. The rest can sit in the driveway until we’ve figured that part out.”

Éponine spends the next several minutes tossing all bags that belong to stragglers onto the blacktop with less care than she should before the transfer is complete.

She checks her watch again. 7:49.

“I’m gonna go check to see what’s going on.” She receives a nod from Combeferre where he leans against the open back of the van.

Éponine goes to the kitchen first where she sees that the mess is almost exactly as terrible as when she left. “Change of plans: whoever is ready at 8 takes the first van, second is stuck with Emotionally Stunted and Emotionally Dense,” she says, pointing up to the noise two floors above. She points a finger at Bahorel. “This kitchen will be spotless before you leave.”

Musichetta and Cosette are already abandoning the kitchen and running up the stairs as Bahorel hurriedly begins tossing trash into a large plastic bag.

Éponine storms up the steps, feeling an odd sort of power come over her. Grantaire likes to call it her “Get Shit Done aura”—a thirty-minute lecture from Enjolras determined “Big Dick aura” to be “offensive, “sexist,” and not worth the risk of getting caught using it again.

Combeferre, Enjolras, and herself are accounted for already, so she passes the doors without event. Marius and Cosette’s door is wide open, and Éponine can see the mess that has been made in Marius’s scramble to find the tickets. “Eight o’clock,” she reminds them as she passes, smiling as she hears their frantic search double in speed.

She stops at Gavroche’s door, giving it a knock. “I’m coming, I’m coming, calm down,” the child’s voice complains from inside.

She throws open the door to see that Gavroche is still in bed. “Gav!” she shouts in exasperation.

He blearily looks up from his bed.

She checks her watch. 7:52. “You have eight minutes to be dressed and in that van, or you have to go with Uncle E and Uncle R.”

“Sounds fun,” he retorts sleepily.

This time Éponine does tear the comforter off of the bed, watching her little brother do his best impression of a pillbug at the loss of warmth. “Get moving,” she commands, dropping the material on the floor and storming up to the second floor.

She finds Enjolras easily enough: he hovers over Grantaire in the bathroom as the man brushes his teeth, apparently deaf to the ongoing crashing of a metal ladle against the bottom of a cheap steel pot. 

“Hey, Martha Stewart! Is there a reason Gav’s still in bed??”

Enjolras gives her an incredulous look. “He said he was up when I knocked?”

“Jesus, Enjolras, everyone under the age of forty says that when someone’s trying to make them up and they’re not ready yet!” She shakes her head in disbelief. Was Enjolras born sixty years old? “Make sure Gav’s ass is on your van. I’m holding you personally responsible for making sure my hellspawn makes it on that plane, you got it?” 

“Got it,” Enjolras responds, already turning away from her. 

She reaches forward and grabs his jaw, pulling it to face her. For the first time in nearly half an hour, the cookware is silent. “He has his passport, he has his ticket, we have his bag. Until I see him again, he is your ward. Anything happens to him, I will personally see to it that you do not live to regret it. Still ‘got it’?”

Enjolras gulps, face going pale. “Mmhm.”

“Good.” She releases his face, sending him stumbling back. “I still haven’t seen Jehan anywhere, I’ll text you if that changes.”

Grantaire has apparently finished brushing his teeth and is looking on in amused silence—far too amused for the sort of bullshit his actions have caused this morning. Éponine yanks the pot and spoon from Enjolras’s grip, holding the pot over Grantaire’s head and giving it a few ringing hits for good measure before handing them back to Enjolras.

She gives Jehan’s room a once-over to confirm its emptiness before moving on. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are standing in front of their master bedroom at the end of the hallway and locking it up. 

“All set!” a breathless Joly exclaims, rushing past her with a bag in one hand and Bossuet’s hand in the other.

“Still got room in the first van?” Musichetta asks with a tired smile.

“For you? I think I can work something out,” she smiles.

She peeks into Courfeyrac’s room where the man is still manically tugging clothing from drawers and desperately shoving it into a duffle with seemingly no system to speak of.

“We leave in five minutes, with or without you,” she bluffs. They need at least six people to leave, and with Gavroche taking his sweet time they only have five.

Courfeyrac looks up, startled and panicked. “I’m almost done,” he promises. “I just need…uh…” His eyes search the room frantically. “There!” he shouts triumphantly before scrambling across the bed to grab at something hanging next to the door. He tosses it into the bag, zipping it up and throwing it over his shoulder before scurrying through the door, shutting it behind him and turning so he’s nearly chest-to-chest with Éponine.

“I have to get my bathroom stuff, and then I’m good to go. Please don’t leave without me, I swear I’m almost ready,” he begs. Éponine tries not to scrunch her nose at the man’s morning breath.

“Eight o’clock.”

Éponine keeps an eye out for Jehan on her way back down to no avail. Combeferre is in the process of packing the triad’s things into the van when she arrives.

“Still no sign of Jehan. Courf’s on his way down with his bag, so we can start loading everyone else’s things into the other van.”

Musichetta and Bossuet start gathering the other bags to load in with Enjolras’s things.

“Where’s Gav?” Joly asks as Combeferre shuts the door to the van.

“He wasn’t ready yet, so he gets to suffer through E and R fighting over the radio stations.”

Joly sighs heavily. “Natural consequences.”

“Natural consequences,” Éponine affirms with a nod. She looks at her watch again. 7:58. “All right, if you’re not being useful grab some seat,” she calls to the driveway at large. She ignores Bossuet’s playful grab at his partners, claiming shotgun for herself.

Combeferre has the van running by the time Courfeyrac appear at the door, finally wearing trousers and a polo that’s probably supposed to make him look respectable. His hair is wild, he has a hygiene bag tucked under the elbow of the arm holding his duffle, and a foamy toothbrush is lodged in his mouth. Somehow, he looks more undone than he had napping on the floor of the pantry.

He makes a mad dash toward the van, sliding the door open with a great heave. “Ou’a ma weh Bishesh, ‘is is ma ‘eat,” he declares, sounding very confident for someone with a mouth full of toothpaste. 

“Yeah yeah, get in,” Éponine mutters, a sideways smirk breaking on her face.

The van starts moving with the shut of the door, and as soon as Courfeyrac is properly settled he lowers the window to spit, narrowly missing the side of the vehicle. 

“Courf, I don’t think we’ve ever seen you without your hair styled,” Musichetta remarks as he sips water from a bottle to rinse.

He spits the liquid out the window with as much venom as someone who woke up twenty minutes ago in a panicked, drunken state seems to be able to summon. “You haven’t. Pray you never will again.”

\---

When they arrive at the airport, Bossuet and Courfeyrac both need woken up. Courfeyrac, for his part, seems much more sober as they distribute bags. 

“I’ll get that,” Combeferre offers when Éponine slings Gavroche’s bag over her shoulders.

“Nah. My brother, my bag. Fuck off,” she grins.

They exit the rental center and spot Feuilly almost immediately standing exactly where he’d said he’d be. 

“How was the shift?” Bossuet asks, putting down his bag to greet the man with a hug.

“Boring, exactly the way I like it.” If Feuilly has an exciting night at the residential home, it’s almost always a sign that something has gone horribly wrong. “Where’s the other van?”

“Things got held up this morning, they’ll be meeting us later,” Combeferre answers.

“Barhopping?”

“Barhopping,” Combeferre confirms. 

Feuilly laughs, shaking his head. “I’m sure R’s getting quite the earful this morning.”

“We all did,” Joly assures. 

“Are we waiting here, then?” Bossuet asks.

Everyone turns to Combeferre, who looks thoughtful. “Getting through security is already going to be a hassle as is, we’d best get a headstart. We’re all going to the same terminal, after all.”

Éponine’s hand tugs at Gavroche’s backpack strap uneasily, but she nods in assent.

They manage to stay together through getting their bags checked, despite Joly’s apparent best efforts. After a quick inquiry he discovers that he needs to transfer almost every liquid in his carry-on to his checked luggage under the watchful eye of a very tired-looking security officer. Courfeyrac chugs the rest of his water and is cleared to take the empty bottle through, though a disagreement over a classification of materials ends in Courfeyrac emptying an entire tin of breathmints into his mouth before scraping a handful of hair gel into the vessel with unflinching eye contact. _At least we should have our acts together by the time our carry-ons are actually being scanned_ , she thinks with a sigh.

When they ask about Gavroche’s bag, Éponine hesitates . It’s supposed to be his checked luggage, but she won’t be able to pass it off to him until the other van arrives, whenever that may be.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, putting on her best modern day damsel-in-distress effects. “Is there any way I can take this as a personal item?” The agent on the other side of the counter looks dubious. She swallows her pride, biting her lip and knitting her eyebrows. “It would just be such a big help to me,” she emphasizes, leaning over the counter.

The agent gulps. “Uh. Yeah. Sure. Lemme just.” A moment later the bag has a tag on it and the group is strolling through to security.

“You are a dangerous woman,” Courfeyrac comments, delighted.

“I know.”

The team looks at the line for security and collectively deflates.

“Well, I don’t know about you all, but I’m going to find a bathroom to finish putting on my face while I can,” Courfeyrac declares with a wave.

“Is that really the best—”

“Look at it this way: TSA is gonna split us up anyway, may as well do it on my terms. These cheekbones don’t naturally cut glass, and I refuse to let anyone else see my hair in this state.” He turns on his heel, heading off to the bathrooms without further discussion.

True to his word, only Joly goes unsearched. (“Apparently the Japanese are no longer a threat to American security,” Joly later comments with a roll of his eyes.)

Éponine gets pulled into a booth right next to Combeferre’s, which makes it no less tedious but somehow more comforting.

“Where are you from?” the woman asks, looking over her passport as a second pats Éponine down.

“France.” 

“I mean, where are you really from?”

“Paris.”

“You know what I mean. Where are your parents from?”

“France.” 

She woman huffs in irritation. “What are you?” 

“Impatient, tired, hungry. Wondering if TSA has a new maximum IQ imposed for their agents.” In the next booth over, she hears Combeferre snort. 

The woman is unamused.

Éponine sighs. “Ethnically, I’m Romani.”

The woman wrinkles her nose but says nothing else, handing Éponine back her passport and ticket. Several booths down, Éponine sees Bossuet emerge with two security guards, one of whom holds his carry-on. Joly hurries after him.

“Hey, Joly,” Éponine says, catching the slight man’s arm. “What’s going on?”

“We forgot that we used Bossuet’s bag the last time we went camping,” Joly explains. Éponine gives him a blank look. “We went camping with Jehan and R.”

“Ah.”

“Just some residual scent, but a dog picked it up.”

“You’d better go with him, then.”

“Tell Musichetta?”

“I’ll send her on her way as soon as I see her.”

Joly hurries ahead to catch up with his boyfriend. Éponine scans the area for any sign of someone she knows—Feuilly or Musichetta or Combeferre, but she’d feel a lot better if she saw any of the people from the second van. The thought of Gavroche alone in Bossuet’s position sneaks up on her, and she does her best to put it out of her mind.

Feuilly is the next to emerge, and they agree that he’ll go ahead and meet them at the terminal after Éponine sees Musichetta. She holds herself steady through informing Musichetta of Bossuet’s condition, though the raw fear on the woman’s face shakes her. She points Musichetta in the right direction and lets her hurry off to her boyfriends. It’s only when she confirms that Combeferre has made it through that she continues on, confident that Courfeyrac can charm his way out of any situation he may find himself in.

When the four of them meet, it’s 11:15. She had lied to Gavroche a little: boarding begins at 12:00, the flight takes off at 12:15. She had been hoping that they wouldn’t be cutting it so close that it mattered.

Feuilly volunteers to scout for food since they’re all subsisting on coffee alone at this point and comes back fifteen minutes later with six sandwiches.

“Ouch, at airport pricing? How many newborns did you need to promise?” Éponine asks, tearing into her turkey sandwich.

“Only the useful ones. That and my right hand,” he replies, holding up his prosthetic with a grin.

Éponine elbows him. “Ass. How much do we owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. You all’ve brought dinner to me at work more times than I can count. Call it even.”

Éponine settles in comfortably surrounded by her friends, content for possibly the first time today.

 

Éponine checks her watch again. 11:52, and no one else has shown up yet. Not even Bossuet and his partners have returned.

“They texted us that they got to the airport, they’re fine,” repeats Feuilly, likely under the misconception that it will relax her.

“That was thirty minutes ago.”

“Which means they should be getting through security any minute now. Ép. Everyone will be on this plane, I promise.”

A bit of movement catches her attention, and she sees Jehan double-checking their ticket against the terminal number.

“Jehan! Jehan!” calls Courfeyrac, waving.

They look up, face lighting up on recognition.

“Everyone else is in security, but flight times have been indicated, so we’re making this flight even if they need to hold it up,” Jehan relays confidently. They look around, confused. “Where’s Joly? And Bossuet, and Musichetta, and—”

“Bossuet got held up in security, the others are with him.”

Jehan nods before pulling out their phone to check the time. “Nearly boarding time! Goodness, we really are cutting it close.” 

Éponine fights the impulse to check her watch again and feels Feuilly’s eyes on her, likely watching for the same thing. An arm curls around her waist, and she doesn’t need to look to know it belongs to Combeferre. Éponine’s about to ask Jehan where they were this morning when three familiar figures appear behind the redhead.

“You all would not believe the sort of bullshit hoops they tried to make Bossuet jump through,” Joly complains once within earshot. He holds up a plastic bag containing, presumably, Bossuet’s carry-on items. “They cut up his bag because they were convinced that it had something sewn in! That was a nice bag!”

“It was ridiculous,” Musichetta confirms.

“That really was a lovely bag,” Jehan agrees.

There’s an announcement overhead for first boarding call. Jehan and Feuilly go ahead, nodding to the others.

“Did any of you see Gav?”

The trio look between themselves. 

“Sorry Ép, no sign of ‘im,” Bossuet responds.

“But I’m sure he’s here. I mean, you said you put him in Enjolras’s care, right?” Musichetta continues at Éponine’s nod. “Then I’m sure he’ll be here, bubblewrapped and ready to go.”

“And anyway, you know R adores him. No way that R would let Enj forget him.”

“He seemed pretty hungover this morning.”

“One way,” Joly allows. “But we both know that it didn’t happen.”

Combeferre’s arm squeezes around her as second boarding call rings out. She looks out past them again, tugging once more at the backpack’s strap.

As if answering some unspoken call, Grantaire appears, canvas pack sling over his shoulder. He hurries up to their group, and something like relief breaks in her chest as he hugs her, extremely out of breath as he plants a kiss on her cheek. “Sorry we’re late. Promise, everyone’s on their way.”

Éponine feels everything that’s been taut and tense in her body release, allowing her to finally breathe properly. “Okay,” she assents. “Let’s go.”

As they line up to board the plane, she leans over to Grantaire behind her.

“So where did you find Jehan?”

He shrugs. “They found us. We were all panicking in the foyer, and suddenly the front door opens and there’s Jehan, looking fresh as a daisy in a new outfit and asking if we were ready to go yet.”

“They didn’t say where they were?”

“To be honest, I think we’re all a bit nervous to ask.”

She thinks for a moment. “That’s valid.”

\---

Her watch isn’t very useful when they’re racing ahead in time zones, but there’s something comforting in knowing exactly how long they’ve been off the ground.

(four hours)

Éponine sits up from where she was leaning against Combeferre and adjusts her complimentary blanket, yawning.

“Feeling better?” Combeferre asks, pausing the movie in front of him.

“Yeah,” she mewls. She finally begins to allow herself to get excited for the trip ahead of her. “New York City, huh?”

“Yeah,” Combeferre smiles back. “Courf’s already booked everyone tickets to no fewer than three musicals, and R claims that Christmas will not be complete without seeing the tree at the Rockefeller Center.”

“Gav’ll go nuts for that,” she murmurs, snuggling into Combeferre’s arm.

“He’ll love New York City.”

Éponine tries adjust herself again, aches from the long carride and odd sleep position finally settling in.

“Gav’s bag,” Combeferre comments, indicating the reason for her limited legroom.

“Right, he’s probably missing this by now.” She stands up, grabbing the bag and looking around for a familiar puff of gold. She locates him on the outside seat of the center aisle soon enough and begins to make her way down to him. As she draws closer, she notices his seat is bumping back and forth and soon sees an equally-familiar mop of dark curls in the seat behind Enjolras. _Karma’s a bitch._

“Yo, Angelface, you know where Gav’s sitting? I’ve got his bag.”

Enjolras’s expression freezes. Behind him, Grantaire finally stops kicking Enjolras’s seat long enough to flag a passing flight attendant. 

“Excuse me, Ma’am, how much longer until we’re on the ground?”

“Two and a half hours, Sir.”

“Great, thanks. Three of those mini vodka bottles, please?”

Once the attendant is pushing past Éponine and Grantaire has his alcohol, he tosses one over Enjolras’s seat, managing to land it perfectly in the stunned man’s lap.

“So, Ép. In roughly two and a half hours I suspect Enjolras is going to have some relatively horrific news for you. In the meantime, vodka?”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Physical violence against a child is never okay. Éponine is unlearning terrible behavior that she grew up with. The conversation does happen the day after Christmas, but Gavroche had forgiven her before he even fell asleep the night before he was left behind. It was a serious conversation nevertheless that involved a lot of hugging and a bit of crying (I won't say whom). Gavroche spent the whole time he was alone at the house feeling incredibly guilty about what he said and secretly wondered if some divine power had decided that he didn't deserve them anymore for what he'd said, even though he consciously knew they were just on the plane.
> 
> 2) This is also the reason Enjolras decided that they needed to plan to be at the airport _four_ hours in advance on the return trip which, as you know, landed Enjolras and Grantaire in security's capable hands.
> 
> 3) Enjolras was so clearly distraught and horrified with himself for having left Gavroche behind that Éponine couldn't actually find it in her to do anything to him besides leave the room every time he'd enter it.
> 
> 4) You really shouldn't antagonize TSA agents for a lot of reasons. Éponine left all of her fucks with Gav this morning. 
> 
> 4) Grantaire totally fucking deserved everything Enjolras gave him, the asshole.
> 
> Comment below to let me know what you think OR hit me up at my [tumblr](http://shitpostingfromthebarricade.tumblr.com).


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